A Study in Red
by greshunkai
Summary: Eighteen years ago I decided that a certain turtle needed a very special 'ride'. So, with a "story" written long before I encountered this weirdness called "Fan Fiction", I gave him one.


DISCLAIMER: Says it all, they ain't mine.

* * *

It was red and it screamed. It screamed like a crucified demon, it moaned, it howled. It was the flaming shriek of tortured agony...

* * *

The letter dropped into April's mailbox on Friday morning. It was addressed to her, but written on the smaller envelope inside were the words: "For your little friend in the red mask".

"A key?" April thought, her fingers tracing the shape she could feel inside. "For Raphael?"

* * *

Sure enough, when he tore it open, a key had fallen out and a message:

_There's an alley behind Chet's bookstore on 38th. _

_Be there Saturday midnight, alone._

The only signature, if that's what it was meant to be, was a drawing of a flaming gape-jawed death's head!

"Did it have a postmark, April?" asked Leonardo, frowning.

"It was blurred, Leo, but I think it might have been from California," she answered him.

"That picture," Donatello was talking to himself again, "it's ringing bells, but I can't quite place it..."

"Hey!" Mike grinned, "it looks like we have a date for Saturday night!"

"_Alone!_" Ralph growled, glaring, "it sez ALONE an' I'm goin!"

"Not alone," Leonardo laid down the law. Master Splinter was at once among them. "Raphael has received an invitation and he must, in courtesy respond, but we will all be witness."

And that, of course, settled that.

* * *

Is there anything that holds more menace than a dimly lit alley in a New York night? Anything could be waiting for you in there...anything!

Of the watchers crouched on a nearby rooftop, only Mike could follow Raph's silent progress through the alleyway. He knew his brother's Ninja style almost as well as he knew his own stealth moves.

There was a yellowish beam of light slanting from a partly opened door halfway down the alley's block long length. As near as they could figure, the open door was at the back of the store named in the mysterious message.

The light flickered suddenly - a shadow had blurred through it. The waiting turtles tensed.

* * *

It screamed in his face! A blood red, chrome shiny, shriek of power and speed.

"Far out," he whispered, then drew a long breath, sliding the paired weapons back into his belt.

"Far f****** out!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. He was beside it in an instant, snatching the green painted helmet from the black leather seat. A full face Bell Star with his name on it - R A P H A E L.

Modified, a little misshapen by human standards, it was the perfect fit for a mutant turtle's head!

"Awesome," Mike whispered at his back. Raph turned quickly.

"It's for me," he announced, "It's got my name on it!"

"All yours, bro," Mike assured him, backing away in mock horror. "I wouldn't touch that thing with a ten foot pole..."

"And _he_ won't either." Leonardo stated flatly. "You've never ridden one of those things. You can't..."

"Before the sun comes up tomorrow," Raphael's snarl interrupted, "I will have!"

Master Splinter was between them, gently caressing the machine.

"A stalwart breed, the Kawasaki," he murmured. Then he noticed the model name slashed across the fairing.

"And this one is named Ninja -- most fitting...do you see," that calm, wise gaze lanced up at Raphael, "the form taken by the decorative lines painted on the gas tank and fenders? They remind me of your chosen weapon, my son, the three bladed dagger we call 'sai'" He was silent a moment and then said thoughtfully, "I think, that if you always remember to wear your helmet and exercise great caution at first...then, when you are confident of your skill and feel able to take a passenger, I should like to go for a ride!"

They all blinked in astonishment and true master of his ninja art, Splinter was no longer among them.

"Hell's Bells!" Donatello said suddenly. Startled, and puzzled, the other three swung around to stare at him.

"No! I mean..." a sheepish grin was spread across his face. "I knew it meant something and I just remembered - that picture on the message...it's the symbol, the trademark, used by that outlaw gang in California, The Hell's Angels!"

* * *

It was red and it screamed. It screamed like a crucified demon, it moaned, it howled, it was a flaming shriek of tortured agony...

It sounded like a Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle, with its muffler cut-out twisted wide open....

And it was.


End file.
